Resolve
by ZeldaChao19
Summary: Tahno-centric / Sometimes it takes the burn of humiliation and the loss of a vital part of oneself for one to find their integrity. If Tahno can overcome this hardship, perhaps he can make a difference in the fight against the Equalists.


**Resolve**

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**Prologue**

_- - flashback - -  
_

**Catalyst**

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It was a combination of both the wind and the light that woke him. His nightmares usually started something like this. First the wind would rake its claws down his back, bare from fitful sleep and the cold would drip down into his bones. Then would come the light, flashing behind red eyelids, and his eyes would flicker open to beads of luminous green glowing from their goggles and reflecting all across the room. Sometimes his eyes would burst open and he would take everything in overwhelmingly fast. The glares would blur his languid vision from focus; his heart would erupt in his chest, the blood raging through his veins. He would drip with sweat within moments, any resistance useless.

Those were the better nights. They went by quickly.

Sometimes he'd be tortured into wake, frantic to just get it out of the way but too paralysed by the terror that they pumped into him to open his eyes. His heart would hammer ruthlessly in his chest, the rhythm working its way up from a slow thud until the breath was punctured from his lungs and he was left gasping. His limbs would act against his will, trembling and incandescent with the cold as it sunk it's unforgiving teeth into his skin. These were the worst nights. These were the worst because he would long for his bending to protect him so acutely that he would ache from the hollowness he felt, both body and mind craving for the part of him that he could no longer have.

This seemed like it would be one of those nights.

His hand was already twitching in its usual attempt to call the water to him; until an eerie wave of calm washed over him. It lapped quietly at the unease in the back of his mind, working its way through him until he was doused. He found that opening his eyes became an alleviating motion, despite the abundance of lost hours that rimmed his under-eyes. He was met by a dim, serene illumination, one that hadn't been present from behind closed eyes but was causing the darkness to wane, its shadows retreating to the corners of the room. The light blurred in and out of focus, splashed unevenly across his vision.

It was a moment before his weary eyes found the source; the window across the room. He had taken to leaving it open at night, in spite of the part the wind played in his nightmares; it was worth it for the sight of the moon was enough to sooth him into slumber.

His eyes finally settled into focus and the immediate confusion he felt was swept over by a second tide of calm.

He was hallucinating. He must be. This was far too real to be a dream, for his dreams were plagued by horrors with escape. The consequences of his sleepless nights were finally taking their toll. Perhaps he had spent too long watching the moon at night, too often becoming reliant on it for rest; perhaps it was the frequent reminiscing of childhood fairy-tale stories he had done to comfort himself in peaceful distraction. Whatever the case, this could not be real. His mind was playing with him, twisting and mutilating his memory until it was unrecognisable, trying to suffocate him with his own safety blanket. Perhaps this actually was a dream, and his night terrors had taken a new bittersweet turn in order to break him further and beat him into the ground.

And yet, there was nothing unreal about what he was seeing before him. His mind was clear but it conjured no warnings.

Before him, emanating from the light of the moon, was the Moon Spirit herself.

He swallowed heavily as he reached a slow acceptance of this, and a blissful awe settled over his being. A gentle smile curved the edges of the spirit's lips and he felt her warmth flood him, feeling for a brief moment as if he were whole again.

Princess Yue appeared exactly as he had imagined her. The tale of the North's saviour was one every child with Water Nation blood had been brought up on, regardless of where they hailed from. While being born under neither of the poles meant he could never have grasped the weight of her sacrifice to her people at such a young age, he had harvested an intense respect for her devotion in his childhood, one that had only grown with each retelling of her story. Seeing her here before him inspired a surge of nostalgia in him. She was so delicate and gentle and yet her fiercely unwavering soul shone through. Her presence breathed safety.

_Tahno._

He sucked in a breath, a shiver of apprehension tainting the amity that she sheltered him in. Her voice was powerful, transcendent. Equally as soft and tranquil. Oh spirits, what if he were dreaming? It dawned on him now that if he was really awake, why would she be visiting him? He was neither honourable nor loyal. He was a cheater. He used his bending for personal gain. _Had_ used his bending. And now he was weak and broken and pitiful and not someone who was anywhere near worth the time of the _Moon Spirit_.

Her lips quirked gracefully with a second small smile.

_You are not dreaming_, she responded tenderly, startling him out of his reverie to meet her eyes. He found that the way she watched him through her hazy orbs unnerved him. There was a pull in his breast as she read him, as if she were calling out to his soul, yet there was something curiously reassuring about the feel of her that his unease passed over without her aid.

_You must listen to me, Tahno._

He exhaled slowly and nodded once.

Her eyes fell for a moment and when they returned to him there was a slight shimmer behind the mist. When he felt the wisps of her sorrow begin to brush at his emotions his gaze hardened a fraction.

_You have suffered a great loss, losing a part of yourself._

His breath hitched, a sharp prickle making itself known behind his eyes. He had yet to truly cry since he his identity had been defiled and he had been robbed of his bending. Rather, he had simply been left with a blunt throb in his chests and the inability to feel anything other than fury until the days had dulled down to a subdued prickling that never quite left him. There was something, however, about hearing it from her that brought tears to his eyes. He had been harbouring a vain hope that everything he was experiencing was the real horror and that his dreams were a meagre part of the genuine nightmare, but her words were a solid confirmation of the truth he had been guarding himself from.

_Please, listen to me_, she pressed, but his eyes had dropped to where his hands lay open, useless, on his lap and he wasn't listening. She drifted closer. _Do not give up._

His throat tightened, one tear escaping on a whim. The reality of it stung. Her words seemed to elicit his shaking, though whether it was due to the supressed sobs or the anger bubbling up inside of him he did not know. A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips before he gave in to it. All at once, it consumed him; her peaceful influence dissipating as he was overcome by her words. He forced his gaze onto hers, eyes hard, and managed to control his tremors long enough to let his emotions spread like wildfire across his face, conveying every inch of feeling. _Don't give up? I don't want your __**pity**__, but __**this**__? If this is your form of comfort it __**disgusts**__ me. You don't know me. How could you possibly understand what I am going through? You couldn't even bend. You don't know anything. I am __**nothing**__ without my bending._

But when he opened his mouth all he managed was a strangled, "I'm... weak."

_You are not._

She touched a hand to his cheek and in that moment he broke down. He yielded to her, still shuddering but now at the mercy of his tears, of everything he had kept pent up that now crumbled before him. It was those incessant moments when he had to dampen his hands in order to clean his garments; when he had to force himself into the wash room after avoiding bathing for days; when he would be outdoors and the rain would begin to fall and every fibre of his being would ache as the water touched him, but he would allow himself to soak in it hoping endlessly to find the comfort there had once been in the act only to drown in his despair, in the feeling of the void that could not be filled.

_Tahno._

He ran a hand down his face as he tried to compose himself. He must look pitiful. Worse than.

_I am here to help you._

He took a deep, shuddering breath before raising his now red eyes to hers once more.

_You are not weak_, she soothed and he bit down his retort, so tired. Too tired. _Yes, you have lost something precious to you, a part of yourself. And yes, it is hard, but that hardship can be overcome. Going through it does not make one weak. Surrendering to it is what makes one weak._

He wiped harshly at his tears while he tried to regain his voice, now hoarse. "What else am I supposed to do? What else _can_ I do?" His words came out callous and bitter and he wanted to choke them back but he wasn't so much angry as he was lost and desperate, and he needed her to _know_. What _could_ he do? His bending was gone. It wasn't a broken limb that could be restored over time; he could not heal something that was not there.

_You can fight,_ she continued, the corners of her lips twitching upwards again. Reassuring. _All is not lost. There is more that you can do. One does not need bending to take part in a fight or to right a wrong._

And with that, she parted from him. Her hand fell from his face as she drifted away, the chill of the cold promptly sweeping over him as it's talons reached out through Yue's warmth. He let out a strangled cry of protest before he could help himself, reaching out for her. Like a child, frightened of the night terrors that may arise from his dreams without her. It took him a moment to find words through his impulsive, scrambled fears. "W-wait! There isn't anything I can do! There's nothing for– for non-benders, for _me_, to do in this fight!" _Stay with me._

She gifted him no response, though her eyes lingered on his as she moved, taking the light with her and allowing darkness to sprout heatedly from its roots once more. He watched her, transfixed and longing, as the brightness wavered and her transparent figure began to fade into mist, sheathing her in a dull cloud of smoke.

And all of a sudden he was five years old again, tears in his eyes and a breath trapped in his throat as he heard the legend for the first, heart-wrenching time. His mother spoke it excruciatingly slowly, drawing out the passages, pausing for him to envision the scene in his mind before it would crumble at the conclusion. But when she neared the end and his heart began to beat heavy in his breast he wanted nothing more than for the story never to end; to never find out what became of the Princess, for deep down he knew that her fate had been sealed by sadness. Noble and valiant, but unavoidably sorrowful.

_"... and she faded until nothing but a whisper of her form was left, and the Princess became the moon spirit."_

He had cried at first, tears hot and cutting as they rolled down his cheeks. He had been angry, so angry, at the Fire Nation for what they had done, for the monster they had raised to murder Tui and abandon La in his pool of grief. His mother had soothed him, stroking his hair and telling him tenderly,_ "Hope was restored because of the Princess. She wasn't just a hero to her people; she was a hero to the world. Without her, you wouldn't have your bending, my child. She has blessed you with the power to take care of the people you love."_

His vision wavered as he watched the Moon Spirit depart, revisiting the tale for the final time. That's right. His mother had taught him that his bending was a gift bestowed to him by the moon, one that he could us to protect. But it was _her _tale that had taught him that even without this power, one could be strong; that strength came from the heart, that even those without bending could make a difference. That true power came from resolve.

The last smile she gave him was placid, with a sparkle behind her eyes as she spoke her last words.

_Use this loss to your advantage. Find strength within it. They do not suspect ordinary people. What is it that you can now do?_

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**A/N:** So, I really love Tahno, and was inspired by two wonderful pieces of art to write about what he may have been doing in the background of things (I've linked the art pieces on my page; please have a look!) I had planned on starting this several episodes back – thankfully my original plans only needed slight tweaking to fit in with the recent episodes. Looking back, the finale also doesn't change that either. (Gonna' warn you though that I'm a terrible judge of genre so they may be prone to change.) Hope you enjoy!

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